Odds
by Frigonfic
Summary: It never was about the odds - they control every aspect of the Games; from who is chosen to play to who will be crowned victorious. He was their golden boy, and they weren't quite through with playing with him yet. Finnick through his Games to his victory.
1. Prologue

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This will be a bit of a short series on Finnick Odair and the Games that he won. It will be told from his point of view; the prologue is just written slightly differently. And this lovely short series is all thanks to the suggestion from Ariel123, who requested Finnick's Games to be written out (:

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

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They say it's about the odds, but it never really is.

It's not about the odds when they pick your name from the Reaping bowl - it's all planned out. They pick who they want to kill, and somewhere in a big room in the Capitol, they have your name - all the kid's names - on a big screen on a computer. Next to your name is everything about you; your family, your habits, your education - they know everything about you, and they know everything about everyone.

So then, this is the fun part. They choose a boy and a girl from every district to play. They pick who they think would be fun to watch in the Games, and who they think will raise up the rankings. Who will provide entertainment, and who to kill off.

Can you imagine that? Somewhere in the Capitol, in a basement, huddled in a corner, there is a man that knows your name, your face, your quirks and your likes - and you know nothing about him. He smiles when he reads your biography, and with a click of his fingers, he can change your life. He picks you - he _handpicks _you - and he thinks that you'd be fun to watch.

Some stranger in a basement decides your life.

Thousands of thousands of names go through his computer, and he reads them all. It's not about the odds; he picks who he likes and he places the bets. And out of the thousands of names, they pick your name.

This man indirectly kills twenty-three kids and scars the last one standing.

How simple it is to him, to just press a button and ruin someone's life. To write down a name on a sheet of paper, and send it to the Reaping bowl in every district so that only that one name is written on every slip of paper.

That sniveling girl from 10? He picked her because he wanted to see blood run from her eyes.

The monstrous boy from 1? He likes the glint in his eyes; he'll rank the ratings up for sure.

That waif-like girl from 6? He wants to see how she can run away from the mutts they've planned out.

And the bronze haired boy from 4? He'll charm the Capitol for sure - he might be bronze in District 4, but he'll be _gold _in the Capitol.

This man, he writes the names neatly down onto a sheet of paper to send to President Snow, going in order from District 1 to District 12.

That agile girl from 9, the awkward boy from 3 - their names are written down, all of them - a death sentence for twenty-three of them and a mind-scarring experience for one.

The man goes down his list, smiling. Once again, his eyes settle to the bronze haired boy from 4. He smiles as he reads his name - he knows he will be big and he knows this is his best choice so far.

His fingers rest on the name next to the grinning, unknowing picture.

Finnick Odair.

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**Thanks for reading!**

Just a few things to let you all know before we get started - firstly, if you've read some of my previous stories, you will know that my chapters are pretty irregular in length. Unfortunately for this story, it'll be quite the same - I'll be cutting it off at points that are important, and if that means the chapter is shorter, then that's that. I apologize in advance for that, but I really can't help it.

Secondly, this series won't be told in supreme detail, meaning that I'll be glossing over a few events here and there but I won't be going in-depth into everything Finnick goes through. It's a short series - I'm not attempting to write a book out here. But yes, the major points will be described; only a few things that I'm too lazy to write will be lightly covered instead of a bomb of emotions and descriptions.

So, yup. I think that's about it. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I hope that you'll stick around to see how everything unfolds!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

So yes, this is in Finnick's point of view, from when he is fourteen years old. I hope you like the chapter!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

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I needed to swim like I needed to breathe.

Swimming was an escape - escaping to an underwater world, exploring different sights, forgetting the reality of land and all the cruelties it holds.

The ocean was so much calmer than the land. It was much more peaceful, and much more beautiful. Why would anyone want to stay on land when they could be underwater?

I swam every day, and when I wasn't swimming, I was fishing. I helped my father on our little sailboat, fishing for dinner and selling the extras for money.

I needed to be near the water.

That's why I hated training. It was on land, far away from the ocean.

I didn't understand, didn't understand why I needed to learn how to throw a spear or wrestle a man. How was this going to help me feed my family?

But the better I did in training, the faster I was allowed the leave. The faster I was able to return to the ocean.

So I worked hard during training, and I threw their little knives and broke the bones of the trainers. It was clear that I was a rising star in training, but I didn't care. There were other kids, older kids, more experienced and more bloodthirsty, that were willing to take place in the Hunger Games. I didn't need to learn.

But the training centre was a cage, and the only way to get out was to rise to the top. The higher I ascended in the academy's hierarchy, the less I had to attend class.

I was perfectly content with that.

I had started training when I was five years old - we all did. Learning how to throw spears, how to do hand-to-hand combat - everything that was deadly, we learned.

But while the other kids learned how to kill, I preferred to learn how to _survive._

I learned how to swim, staying in the water much longer than the other children. The sun might go down, and they might go back home to eat dinner, but I stayed out in the ocean in hopes of seeing one of the glowing jellyfishes again.

My father taught me how to fish, and I had been helping him in his little sailboat ever since I was four years old. I was impatient, but my father taught me how to sit still and wait.

"You're scaring off all the fish, Finnick. You have to stay still." My father often told me. "Or else we'll go hungry tonight."

And the thought of coming back home to my mother and younger siblings with nothing in our hands scared me. Not having anything on the dinner table. Watching as we grew thinner and hungrier.

And that thought kept me still enough to catch fish.

"That's it, my boy." My father would smile, ruffling my hair. "Now we won't go hungry."

I would smile, because I believed him.

**. **

I hated watching the Hunger Games. And I hated the Reapings.

How barbaric were they; fighting? I didn't understand. We could all just be happy and healthy if we put down our weapons and worked together.

But I was nine at the time, I didn't understand. And even though I grew up and pretended like I understood what was wrong with this world, I didn't realize the depth of the situation until I was much, much older.

I was nervous at the Reapings. You would call me silly for that, coming from a Career district. There were always plentiful boys and girls who were willing to volunteered.

But you're getting us mixed up with District 1 and 2. We're not like them. We train and we learn how to fight, but we don't massacre like them. We don't produce tributes that are as blind with blood thirst as them. You could say we're a bit more level-headed than them. I guess it comes out from living next to the ocean.

We didn't have volunteers every year. We trained for the most part of our lives, but none of us were eager killers. We only attended training because it was mandatory; and once we turned eighteen, all the knife-throwing skills were out of our minds in a second.

So you could still be Reaped, and you'd go to the Capitol just like the other districts. You might have an edge with your training, but you're just as fearful and scared as everyone else.

_Oh, but what you don't know is that _he _makes sure of who volunteers and who doesn't. They're all picked out beforehand, and if he doesn't want volunteers in his Career districts, then there won't be any._

But that's the downside of being a Career district but not being bloodthirsty contestants willing to play the Capitol's Games. When you're Reaped, and you're standing on that podium, the escort asking for any volunteers, you look at every single one of your training partners and you stare them down.

They're older than you, and they're more skilled. They stand a better chance than you, because you're just this meager fourteen year old who has a family to feed.

But no, the eighteen year-olds stand like statues, ignoring your gaze. They won't volunteer for you.

And that's the worst bit, standing on the podium, feeling like a fool for believing they cared enough to volunteer for you. The escort would move on to the girl's bowl, and you're left standing there on display for everyone to see, your hopes crushed and your spirits in the dumps.

That's how I felt.

It was just another Reaping day for me; this was my third one and I was starting to get a hang of it. My names were in that bowl only three times, and I was feeling pretty good about my odds.

_Oh, but your name is on _all _of those little slips of paper. Didn't you know? _He _planned it out, because you're going to be a bright, golden star!_

But then my name is called, and I'm standing on the podium numbly, waiting for volunteers. Begging for them in my mind, pleading for someone to take my spot because I can't fight and I need to go home and I need the sea.

But it's silent, no voices piping up to take my place. Only stony gazes from my fellow peers and the sorrowful shock on my parent's face.

The ocean continues pounding in the background, distant, but relaying a message for me to hear.

_I'll be waiting for you to come home, Finnick. _

But I already knew that I wouldn't be swimming in the ocean anymore.

**. **

It's numb, all just a numb shock when my parents visit me in the waiting room. They whisper their words and their 'I love you'-s and I whisper them back, but I don't have my heart in it. I can't feel anything.

My little siblings don't understand, they don't know the severity of the situation. They know about the Hunger Games, but they're confidant I'm coming back - I'm their big brother, and I'm their hero, and I _have _to come back.

But they don't know that it's not as easy as that.

My parents cry and they almost drown me in their tears.

But I am frozen, unable to do anything but think. Think about the Hunger Games, and how I've seen so many people kill and die from it. Think about the Capitol and their disgusting ways. Think about how far away from the ocean I'll be, and about my family without any dinner on the table.

And a constant stream of people visit me - girls, friends, teachers. They all offer advice and tips, but I don't hear any of it in my head.

It's all just a buzz in my ears, hurting my head. But the worst pain of all was the truth, and carrying it on your shoulders, crushing you.

I am going into the Hunger Games, and the odds are, I'm going to die.

But of course, you should all know by now, it's not about the odds.

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**Thanks for reading!**

Yes, I know, it's another short chapter. Sorry about that. I have pretty dysfunctional chapter lengths, if you didn't know that already. So some chapters might be a bit on the longer side, while others may be as short as this. Sorry about that!

Anyways, if you have any questions, comments, suggestions, or feedback, please feel free to leave it as a review! Reviews are always much appreciated and much welcomed!

Thanks again!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

Mags is my mentor.

She's quite old, you see, about seventy years old. She won one of the first Hunger Games when she was fourteen - just like me - by stringing up her opponents like her own marionette doll collection, her large hooks piercing through their bodies.

I've never seen the Games she had won, but that one section with the bodies hanging by hooks in that canopy arena like her own marionette doll collection is featured often in the Capitol reruns.

Mags leads me and my district partner - a seventeen year old girl with hair as black as night, and freckles spattered across her nose on her sun-tanned skin. Her name was Devyn, and I had seen her around the academy, and she was well known for her skill with the hatchet and daggers.

The second Devyn and I step into the train, we are greeted with luxury that we have never even imagined before.

Food and drinks of every colour and size, with crazy designs and inedible decorations. Lavish furniture that must've cost more than my whole house; colours too bright to even look at.

Mags hobbles in without even looking around, sitting down on a dining chair. She says something indecipherable and motions for us to come.

Confused as to what Mags was trying to tell us, Devyn and I cautiously sit down on a dining table.

"Do you have any idea as to how you will win the Hunger Games?" Mags asks us, her piercing blue eyes lingering on the both of us.

"Kill." Devyn says simply, already thinking like the Career she is.

"What about you, boy?" Mags asks me, her eyes boring into my skull.

"I don't know... just survive whatever they throw at me, I guess." I shrugged, never asked this question before.

Then again, I never thought I would be a tribute in the Hunger Games.

"You children always think that in order to win, you have to be the strongest, fastest, most skilled tribute." Mags starts.

"But that's what we've been trained to do." Devyn interrupts.

"How do you think the other tributes from the other districts won?" Mags asks us, eying us again. "Take Seeder from District 11, for example. How did she win?"

The two of us rewind back to the 51st Hunger Games, when Cecelia hid out until the final four, finally massacring them.

"She hid." Devyn answers. "And waited."

"What else?"

I think harder, remembering when a rerun of her Games showed. She was a mediocre fighter, and the remaining tributes were much larger than her. She won though, when her sponsors sent her the parachute containing the poisonous darts, which she used to take down the last tributes from afar.

That was it. Sponsors.

"She got parachutes. Lots of them." I added, remembering the constant stream of silver parachutes from the sky. "She had sponsors."

"You've figured it out, my boy." Mags smiles at me. "Sponsors. That's how you'll win."

Seeder was beautiful and bright, and she charmed all of the Capitol with her bubbly and sweet personality. She was one of those people that you instantly liked, that you were drawn to. It was no wonder that she got so many sponsors.

"But sponsors don't help us when it comes down to the final two." Devyn said stubbornly. "That comes from our own skill."

"Correct. But, what if, say, you were in the final two, and your last competitor is the monster boy from District 1?" Mags counters. "He's got a machete in his hands, and more hidden in his jacket. And what do you have? You have a flimsy knife from the Cornucopia."

"That's not going to happen." Devyn said doubtfully.

"However not, my child?"

"Because my sponsors would've sent me something better. Or I would have grabbed something better."

"Say...your Career gifts were mauled by muttation bears, and you have nothing but your flimsy knife. It's too late in the Game now, in the final two, to buy anything of use." Mags replies, her blue eyes boring into Devyn. I was surprised she didn't look away. "What will you do now?"

"Kill him." Devyn answered simply. "And win."

"With that little knife of yours?" Mags hisses, the first I've seen her anything but friendly or professional. "Do not overestimate your abilities and underestimate your competitor's. It will be your downfall."

"Well, that's not going to happen anyways."

"That's what you thought about being Reaped, now isn't it?" Mags counters smartly. "Look where you are now."

Devyn glares at Mags, her deep green eyes seething. I saw it was clear that Devyn was hard-headed, and she believed that all of her years of training would be enough for her to win - she thought she needed herself and only herself.

"I'm going to take a nap." Devyn stands up suddenly, her black hair swaying. "This train's giving me a headache."

She stormed off to her bed chamber, and I was left alone with Mags.

"Tell me you're smarter than your district partner, boy." Mags smiles sadly. "Please."

"I sure hope I am." I answer honestly.

"Well then, I hope you will take into consideration what I am going to say."

"You're my mentor. Of course I'll listen to you." I lean in a little closer, propping my elbows on the table.

"Now, as I was saying before the foolish girl stopped me - you need sponsors to win. When and if you are in that situation - and you might be in one that is worse, considering it is the Hunger Games - you need your sponsors." Mags explains. "There is not much of a chance for you two win if you happen to be in that scenario. The knife provides no defense, especially since knives are not your best weapon."

"How did you know that?" I ask, shocked that Mags knew this strange fact about me. I always had trouble with my aim using those little blades.

"Dear boy, I know you are a fisher. And all the fishers I know are deadly with spears." Mags smiles. "I can tell, just by looking at your skin and hands. That girl, she is an inland girl - she doesn't work every day like you do, now am I correct?"

"Correct, ma'am." I manage to get out. "Are you an inland girl?"

Mags laughs, a happy sound amidst the fear and sadness.

"Oh, no, dear boy. You and me - we're the same."

Mags smiles at me, and I think about, how maybe - many, many years ago, Mags was a girl with sun-kissed skin and long blonde hair, blue eyes shining in the sun. How Mags would have went out on her own little boat and waited for hours for fish, because maybe she had a family back at home and a table to put dinner on.

We were the same, she said. I suppose we were.

"But back to what I was saying - you need your sponsors." Mags continues, breaking the spell. "You can't win with that knife. You need a spear, and then you stand a better chance. You need the weapon that you are best with."

"And I need the sponsors for that." I finish.

"Precisely, my boy. You need your sponsors to send you a gift - a gift that you claim as your own, a gift that will keep you alive. And then, when you are in the final two with that sponsor gift of yours - _then _you rely on your skills."

"I'd say that your tactic would work the best." I mull over it for a while.

"I've seen it work, multiple times. Your sponsors are there to give you water when you're dehydrated. Weapons when you're weak. Medicine when you're sick, and food when you're hungry." Mags sighs. "You will need to win over the Capitol. And then, when they love you enough, the Capitol will take care of you."

"I don't like the thought of that." I scrunch up my nose. "But if helps me to get back home, then I'll do it."

"It will get you home, boy. Your looks and some charm can get you a long way into the Games." Mags said grimly. "And I intend to bring home a winner this year."  
"So you'll help me charm the audience? The Capitol?" I ask hopefully. Sure, I was good with charming the girls down at the beach every now and then, but the Capitol was a whole new level. At least with the District 4 girls, I held some interest in them - but I hated the Capitol, and holding back my disgust was going to be hard.

"Of course I will, son." Mags smiles sadly. "I'll do everything I can to help you win."

**. **

I can't sleep on the train. I toss and turn and the train moves, too fast for my comfort. I can't sleep without my dad's steady, deep snores in the other room, and the room is too cold; the blankets providing neither comfort nor warmth.

We eat breakfast in a stony silence, the bubbly, unknowing escort chattering on as Mags and Devyn stare each other down. I sit in the middle, fidgeting uncomfortably, feeling as if I was in between an internal war.

When we reach the Capitol, the cameras flash in our faces and the voices cheer louder than anything I've ever heard. The train halts to a stop at its station, and our escort leads us out.

Without any hesitation, Devyn stomps out of the train, stony hard glare on her face - the expression that all the Careers wear.

Before I follow in her footsteps, Mags pulls me back.

"Smile, my boy." Mags advises. "Smile and wave, and blow your kisses. Your task of charming the Capitol must begin the second you step off this train."

I nod at Mags, and she smiles faintly.

"You'll do good, my boy."

"I will, for you." I answer, seeing the sky in Mags' blue eyes.

"Oh, no, son. Don't do it for me. Do it for yourself."

**. **

The cameras are too bright, and the colours are too flashy.

I am dazed for a millisecond, the flash of the cameras momentarily blinding me. But Mags' voice rings out in my head, and I remember her advice. I give the cameras my best grin, and I give them the short wave that my father always gives to the other fishermen. I even wink a few times for good measure.

The crowd screams louder and louder, going wild. The noise hurts my ears, but I grin like it doesn't. I walk slowly, savouring the time I am out with the Capitol - not because I like _them, _but because I like what they could give me in the Hunger Games, and I will need all the help I can get from them. I need more time to win them over.

The crowd quickly learns my name; through the large screen behind me flashing out my picture and name. They chant my name, over and over again.

Repeated, like a broken record. Loud and rumbling, accompanied by screams and shouts. They sound like the ocean calling for me; crashing and thunderous - they are welcoming me to the Capitol.

And they are ready to swallow me up.

**. **

My designers are ecstatic. They jump on me, and they shriek out things as if I wasn't standing right in front of them.

"Oh, he's _gorgeous_! Who knew that this was what District 4 had to offer?"

"He'll be a masterpiece, just look at what I can do with his cheekbones!"

"I don't know where to start, and I don't know if I want it to end! I can't stop staring at him!"

I feel like a mannequin, like I am nothing but a piece of plastic for them to admire. I cover myself, and their hungry eyes and prying hands make me uncomfortable.

"Don't be shy, beautiful." One with neon orange hair coos, her snake tongue flickering out. "You'll be a _star_!"

_This is exactly what _he _wants, and what _he _wants, _he _always gets. Finnick Odair will be gold in the Capitol - and _he _will make sure that he does not flicker and die, for he's got great plans for him._

**. **

All of this noise is giving me a headache.

The crowd, cheering loudly. Screaming out my name, sounding like a thunderstorm ready to crash into my little rickety hut. Ready to swallow me, engulf me, kill me.

They chant my name and throw flowers as the chariot rolls by, ready to throw _themselves _at me if it weren't for the gates holding them back.

I see my face on the banners hanging down from the large stadium, and I wink and grin, driving the crowd wild.

Devyn scowls, and I don't know if it's for the act, or if she's irritated that they're screaming my name and not hers.

I want to hide, want to escape and run away. But I don't - I smile and I wave and I wink and blow my kisses, just like Mags instructed me to do before we rolled out. But this costume - this ridiculous, embarrassing costume - makes me want to throw myself into the ocean and hope to hit a rock on the way down.

It's shaped like waves, hanging down my waist and seemingly crashing down to my knees - looking like a very fancy towel to me. But the worst part, the very worst part - the waves are a combination of sea blue and vaguely transparent.

I feel so vulnerable, so _naked. _

My chest is bare, and so is most of my legs. They put something in my hair to hold it up in a delicate swirl, and they whitened my teeth and brightened my eyes. I am shaking, trembling on the inside for being presented like this - so unlike myself - but I tense the muscles in my chest and legs and wave, grinning the whole entire time, just like what Mags told me to do.

The chariot rolls to a stop in front of President Snow. He silences the crowd with a simple lifted hand and he begins to speak.

"Tributes for the 65th Hunger Games, we welcome you! You have..."

He speaks, but I don't listen. I stare at his ice blue eyes and wonder how someone can be so heartless, so cruel as to take twenty-four kids away from their home. How does one live with that?

But I am taken aback, when Snow stares directly at me.

"And may the odds be _ever _in your favour." He finishes, his ice blue eyes piercing through me like a thousand arrows, his mouth arced up into a crafty smile.

**. **

_And _he _laughs and laughs, sitting in the crowd - the best seat in the crowd, watching as President Snow stares down the young Finnick Odair, talking about the odds._

_It's funny, because you and I both know - and this should be clear to you now - that this was never about the odds, that none of these children ever stood a chance._

_Except for that Finnick Odair, the Capitol's golden boy - _he _has got it all planned out, and _he _is not even close to done with controlling this game._

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**Thanks for reading!  
**

If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, or feedback, please feel to leave it as a review! They're more than welcome and most definitely appreciated!


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